


Of Loneliness and Tradition

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-05
Updated: 2010-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty finds Uhura drinking alone and cheers her up the best way he knows how</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Loneliness and Tradition

She sat at the bar nursing her drink—a rather weak rum and coke substitute at a place crowded with Starfleet cadets. She chose this bar out of habit, not design. Its din helped her feel a connection to something, a feeling she had not felt since the successful conclusion of their last mission.

The weeks following the attempted annihilation of Earth had been very stressful. After the praise, the glory, the adrenaline, everyone was left to pick up the pieces of those left at Starfleet Academy. The crew of The Enterprise had become close, but the reality of settling back into regular life even for a few weeks was a strain that had everyone on edge.

Nyota took a sip of the pleasantly sweet, if not very strong mixture, realizing that she really should not turn to alcohol to solve the issues she was having with Spock.

He was pushing her away and she did not like it. While always a taciturn and difficult man, she was the one he opened up to, as much as a Vulcan was able to. He would tell her what he needed, what he feared, and what she could do to help. Right now he was grieving alone. She was a doer—the sitting around and waiting for things to happen was frustrating the hell out of her.

She would have sat there brooding alone for hours, nursing the same drink until another one magically appeared in her hand, and repeating the cycle of sweet oblivion if not for arrival of a familiar boisterous group of cadets.

"Lieutenant Uhura!" one of them yelled over to her. "Come join us." It was Chekov, a naturally happy individual, and one that Uhura actually liked.

She waved a hand at them and shook her head and they all turned in the opposite direction to snag a large table in the middle. All, that is, except for one Mr. Scott who ignored her glare and approached her. She hadn't spent much time with the man, except for the brief meeting on the bridge in which he was soaking wet and really not much help to the whole Spock/Kirk altercation. Uhura fumed a little in her mind when thinking of Kirk. He really was one to inspire strong feelings; in her case, they were those of irritation. This was just another thing she had in common with Spock, though he was much better at concealing it.

She took another sip of her drink, thinking there were other things that showed on his face, but only when she was very quick with her fingers.

Thoughts of Spock brought her back to the last time she had seen Montgomery Scott. He was there when she had kissed Spock in front of the smug and interested face of Jim Kirk before they had left to fight Nero. He also knew her first name, a great feat for a semi-stranger. If anyone was going to be sitting next to her in the crowded bar, it might as well be someone she could tolerate and had a slight history with.

"Nyota, is this seat taken?" On the other hand, tolerate was exaggerating more than a little.

"It's Uhura, and I suppose not."

"Great! So what is good to drink here--what are you drinking?"

"Rum and coke."

He gave her drink a look of distaste and ordered two whiskey shots. "You might as well drink something a bit stronger if you are going to be wallowing alone in the bar."

"I am not alone. Anymore." She shifted in her stool, wondering about this man. While she did not know him well, she had heard rumors of his heavy drinking and high shenanigans in the engineering department, through the brief time they had spent in space and the clean-up afterward. He was never rumored to be linked to any of the females, even after they were back on Earth, and now she was wondering why.

Scott did not appear hurt or uncomfortable by her bordering-on-rude replies. Instead, he raised a shot of whiskey in the air and motioned for her to do the same. Grudgingly, she took the shot in front of her and copied his motions. She expected something along the lines of "cheers" or "to friendship" or "to making it out alive." She didn't expect what he ended up saying (in Gaelic, no less).

"Here's to all those that you love.  
Here's to all those that love you.  
And here's to all those that love those that you love,  
And all those that love those that love you."

They drank, Scott tipping it back smoothly with no sign of it affecting him. Uhura drank, sputtering a little on the strong alcohol. He pretended not to notice.

"What was that? It's a confusing toast, even when you can understand the language." Privately, she thought it was quite sentimental for their first round of whiskey.

"It is. That is the beauty of it. I learned a great deal of useless Scottish traditions while growing up. One of which was how to properly toast a glass of whiskey, even if it is a cheap non-Scottish knockoff brand. At least with a proper toast, one can pretend it is the good stuff." He motioned for the bartender to pour them another round.

Nyota smiled, glad for the first time that Mr. Scott had decided to pick tonight to sit next to her. He was at least distracting her from her problems.

"So what of you? Do you have any useless traditions you bandy about for fun and entertainment?"

Nyota threw back another shot and had to wait a moment before answering. And then she paused again, as the thought of her traditions made her realize just how long it had been since she had spoken to her family. "I wouldn't call them useless," is what she eventually muttered, but she was remembering traditions and memories that she had never even shared with the one she loved.

A few drinks later (she wasn't sure how many…it had been sort of a blur) and Scotty, as she had been urged to call him, was regaling her with tales of his youth, his accent growing thicker with each shot of whiskey.

"…and then, she slapped me across the face and said 'I am not a prostitute.' She was, I later found out, but I didn't care." He grinned, lost in the tale. He had many, but he had a strong sense of appreciation for every woman on some level, which made Uhura wonder.

She'd let her guard down enough by this point that she blurted out "have you ever been in love?"

Scotty looked surprised. "Well I have imagined myself in love before, but I am not sure I have been. My love interests turn out for the worse, most of the time, as seen from my last story. I like to stick with machinery, if you know what I mean."

She looked at him steadily and said "there is nothing worse, you know, then loving someone who feels little in return. I should know." She sighed. "The one who cares the most holds the least amount of power in the relationship." She lost her balance as she emphasized her words with her hands and she steadied herself on Scotty's leg.

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. His thigh tensed under her hand and he gently moved the hand back to the safety of her own lap. "I think we need more whiskey."

It was a few more drinks later that found Nyota gesturing wildly with her hands once more, reenacting a story from her errant youth.

"..and then, I turned around and saw it. The lion was stalking steadily towards me, but I held fast and threw my spear straight at her neck. She fell down dead instantly. I remember standing there, alone, wondering what the hell I was doing before I remembered it was a simulation." She paused. "Traditional roles were not for me, though." She laughed, thinking of how shocked everyone was that she had won the foot race later than day even after beating the first trial. They never thought she would make it this far, but look where she was now.

Drinking at a bar. Lonely. Sharing stories of long-ago days she had never shared with anyone.

The dark tone of her thoughts led her to glance over at Scotty, who was sitting there, smiling at her. She didn't know what it was about him, but he had a knack for making her want to spill everything, all her inner thoughts and desires. When her gaze grew intense, he looked wildly over his shoulder, no doubt expecting it to be focused on someone else. By this time of night, the bar had emptied of most of the cadets, including the table of Scotty's friends. This, along with the many whiskey shots in her system, gave her the initiative to jump off the stool, grab his hand, and lead him out the back door of the bar.

They ended up in the back alley of the bar. Nyota pushed him up against the wall and put a finger across the lips when he started to say something. "No talking." And then she plastered herself against him and kissed him.

The first touch of lips was pleasant, nothing more. They both tasted and smelled of whiskey and the bar, which was not exactly a turn-off. Scotty let her take the lead and did not thrust his tongue into her mouth right away, but when she tried to hold his hands above him on the wall, he protested.

She found their positions reversed. Scotty put her arms above her head and took over. He kissed her the way she felt she should be kissed, leisurely, but firmly. He took his time, licking over her lips, using just the right amount of pressure. She grew desperate, wanting relief from the heat. But every time she tried to take over, he would stop and wouldn't start again until she ceased wiggling to be free.

"Hush," he said hoarsely, "and I will make ye feel better."

And he did. His tongue entered her mouth, dueling with hers just as he used one hand to continue bracketing her hands above her and the other to go under her shirt. He did not stop kissing, and proceeded to almost bruise her lips and rub up against her, forward and back, forward and back. She cried out a bit as he found her breasts and pinched one nipple, lightly.

He stopped for second. "Put your arms on my shoulders," he whispered.

Somehow, her trousers were open and a warm finger was inside her. She whimpered, holding on tight to surprisingly strong shoulders, as he thrust another finger inside her. A tingling breath sounded in her ear as he continued to thrust his fingers in her.

Her thoughts went back to how he had looked when he said the Gaelic toast, eyes brimming with enthusiasm over his traditions, so earnest and sure of himself. He was more than sure of himself now as he held her firmly between himself and the wall, his thigh firmly between hers, rubbing his whole body against her.

"You are so wet and tight. My fingers want to stay in here forever. Aye, lass, moan a little more for me. I will not stop no matter what noises you make." With this, he added a finger and thrust more firmly and deeply, fucking her strongly with his nimble fingers. His thumb reached up to her clit and stroked it lightly in time to his thrusts.

He continued this way, rocking against her, fingers moving in a slow rhythm, not stopping in his quest to give her pleasure. He whispered things in her ears, how sexy she was, how much she loved his fingers inside her, how he was not going to end this anytime soon. He did this until he realized how close she was.

"Quickly lass, let it go, let it all go." He kissed her roughly and surely, nibbling on her lips, and swallowing her cries as she came around his fingers still inside her, still moving at a strong and easy pace.

She collapsed against him, just as his rocking turned frantic, pushing her flush with the wall of the bar. Nyota unzipped his trousers and touched him then, giving back to him what he so willingly gave to her. It just took a few firm strokes and he was coming, head on her shoulder, breathing hotly and heavily against her ear.

They clung to each other for a while, getting their bearings until Nyota gently wrenched her way out of his arms. She knew she looked haggard, lips bruised, clothing mussed. Just like when Spock lost control with her and kissed a little too roughly.

Spock. Uhura felt a chill run through the length of her sated body. What had she done?

She looked over at Montgomery Scott, who was watching her warily, leaning against the wall. His chest was still rising and falling, his lips red from where she had bit him, and his clothing as mussed as hers.

It had to be said. It was expected. "If you ever…" she began, voice cracking. Her mind was whirling with frightening possibilities. What is someone found out? Had she ruined her chances of fixing this? If he discovered what had happened, he would never trust her again. He already had serious trust issues.

"Don't worry. Nothing will pass these lips." His usual easygoing expression turned grim. "They never do."

She straightened her clothing, turned and stumbled quickly, practically running, away from the bar, the wall, and the knowing face of one Montgomery Scott. She could feel his eyes burning into the back of her as she fled. Or maybe it was her guilty conscience imagining it that way. He had not treated her wrongly; it was she who had used him. She wasn't sure what to think, and the alcohol was not helping her thought process.

As she made her way back to her room, she tried to straighten her appearance, smoothing her mussed hair, drying her leaking eyes, and trying to look nonchalant, not desperate. She might have passed a few people she knew along the way, but she hoped not as she was oblivious to everything but making it back to her room.

Her hand trembled as she keyed in the code to her building. She went up the four flights of stairs and entered her hallway, then halted as if an invisible wall impeded her.

He was waiting for her. Outside her door, he sat against the wall, yet still with perfect posture. Anyone else would be doing a nervous gesture, such as tapping a finger against a leg, but not Spock. Always perfect, always in control. Except when his emotions became to much and caused him not to be.

His face turned toward her and he rose fluidly from his seated position.

She wasn't sure what look she was giving him, but the stress of the last few weeks, the worry, the alcohol, and Scotty all bundled up into a look of rage that she directed at him, though she did not say a word.

He was within touching distance now, but did not speak. Instead, he merely laid a hand on her cheek. She instinctively leaned into the caress, anger forgotten for the moment.

"I need you, Nyota," was all he said. After a moment, she nodded.

For the second time that night, she grabbed a man's hand, this time leading him into her empty dorm room.

She broke away from his touch only to shut the door against guilt, recrimination, and a lonely man who did nothing but comfort her when she asked for it. She schooled her face into a blank expression and prepared to comfort the man she loved.


End file.
